


Programmed

by Captain_Kiri_Storm



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blackouts, Bottom Brock Rumlow, Brock Rumlow is a bag of dicks, Disassociation, Hogan is an Officer and a Gentleman, Honeypots, Human Experimentation, I play loose with canon, Langenscheidt is a Little Shit, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Nick Fury is Not Amused, Not Canon Compliant, Winter Soldier Project, brock rumlow's fragile masculinity, experimental aircraft, what is canon?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kiri_Storm/pseuds/Captain_Kiri_Storm
Summary: Hogan didn't exactly expect to survive after the Gestapo got through with him. He certainly never expected to wake up after he was lowered into one of Hochstetter's contraptions.What he does know is this: he needs to escape. He probably needs to get the kraut who was interred with him out of this pit, too. Hogan needs to find out why he has a squid tattooed on the small of his back and the reason why he has all those blackout spells. As far as he knows, this mountain was supposed to kill him. Karl, too. Hogan can always escape, he knows that. He just doesn't know if he can take another man with him.Hogan has no idea that the engineers behind his programming weren't Gestapo. He has no idea that the people he's trusting - the people who call themselves SHIELD - are really HYDRA and they mean to activate the programming buried in his head.
Relationships: Alexander Pierce & Brock Rumlow, Robert Hogan/Brock Rumlow, Robert Hogan/Karl Langenscheidt
Comments: 21
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

The air seared the inside of his lungs and something dragged him down. A thick liquid, slimy and viscous, dragged him down and threatened to drown him. Something wrapped around his flesh, biting into his flesh and gagging him. There was a tube and he grabbed at it, trying to rub air through the filthy thing, but nothing came. Hogan thrashed around like a dying man. His hands flailed against something cold and hard - something metal. He forced all his remaining strength up against it, trying to force the lid open. He broke the surface and ripped whatever it was off his face, drinking in air like he was a dying man in the desert. The liquid clung to him like it was trying to drag him back into the cold glass tube.

Hogan's shoulders shook as he dragged himself up. He couldn't see much in the dark and his eyelashes felt like they were glued together. He wiped it off, his bare feet skimming over a rusty metal stepladder. The room he was in felt very cold and it was lit by a few well placed glowing lights. Hogan couldn't see much of the place, just that it was very big, very dark, and very empty. He sagged against the cold glass, wincing as he took in a few deep breaths. His lungs still burned and his body ached. He brushed over the back of his head. His hair was a little longer than normal and he could feel the raised scarring that came from having stitches. Hogan frowned.

That was funny. He hadn't never needed head surgery, even if there were times when he should have been checked for concussions. Hogan frowned and tried to gather his strength. He worked his jaw some. It felt like he had been gagged for a long period of time, which wasn't something he would put past Hochstetter's gang of krauts. That said, he needed to find out if he was alone or not. He staggered down the rusty ladder, cursing softly as his bare feet caught sharp edges. Hogan could deal with a little blood. It was the resulting infection that scared him the most. Hogan shook his head and glanced around. There was another tube in the corner, this one lit up with a soft green light.

Hogan noticed that his was red. He smiled wryly. "German engineering. Nothing like it in the world."

He staggered over to the second tube, noticing in some dim way that he was naked. Hogan shrugged. He was used to open showers by now - four years of washing himself in front of other men had cured him of any false modesty he might have once had. If someone wanted to see him in all of his god-given glory, then that was on them. There was another stepladder in front of the second tube, along with an instrument panel. Hogan glanced back towards his. He smiled wryly when he noticed that he was missing one of those. The lettering on the panel was in German and whoever had last used it had made all sorts of notes in crabbed handwriting. Hogan smiled wryly.

"Without small mercies, I don't think I'd be here today," Hogan murmured. "Thank you to whoever made these. You have the most beautiful handwriting I've ever seen and I've seen a lot of hands. Now let's see how this works..."

Whoever had last used this crazy thing had left a detailed list of how to get things out of that tube. Hogan narrowed his eyes as he started pressing the buttons. The lights flashed and illuminated a man hanging motionless in the center of the light sapphire liquid. Hogan thought he recognized the man, but first he had to get him out. He followed the scrawled instructions to a letter and watched as the liquid started to boil off. He ran up the stairs and grabbed for the man as a wheezing mechanical harness started to drag him out. Hogan pulled the mask off. It looked quite similar to the one he had worn when he was a pilot, but it was made out of some weird, clear, flexible material.

"Let's get you in the showers," Hogan grunted. "I have no idea what this mess is, but let's get you cleaned up and then we can figure out where we are."

The man groaned some and opened dark brown eyes. Hogan smiled, fluffing up his hair. He had an idea of who this man was, but he almost didn't recognize him without the thick uniform. Corporal Karl Langenscheidt was a good man, the kind of man that would turn a blind eye towards Hogan fighting the good fight and even pitching in once or twice. It was usually in small ways, like taking packages and dropping them in places that they needed to go. Hogan grabbed the man under his armpits and dragged him towards where he thought the shower bay was. He could kill for a hot shower right now or anything to get that gel of of their skin.

"Colonel Hogan?" Langenscheidt asked. "W-where are we?"

"When I have an answer, I'll tell you," Hogan grunted. He pressed the man against the wall and flipped on one of the corroded metal shower heads. "However, I get the feeling that your fellow kraut is going to come back with a raging case of angry-itis and throw us back into whatever those things are." He gestured towards the tubes and started to warm the water up. "Now let's get you on your feet and get whatever this stuff is off you."

"Colonel Hogan, I don't feel so well," Langenscheidt muttered. He blinked when Hogan dragged him to his feet and started washing him off. "What's going on? What're you doing to me?"

"Giving you a bath," Hogan replied. "You smell."

"You're no rose, either," Langenscheidt muttered. He blinked under the spray and tried to get to his feet. "I don't know what they did to us."

"I have stitches on my head that I really don't remember getting, so I think we're even." Hogan frowned when he saw numbers and a squid tattooed on the small of that man's back. "Huh. I didn't know that you had a tattoo. I saw enough of you naked when I was washing in the enlisted men's showers to know that you don't have a tattoo. Especially one that looks like _that_. That's what Klink thought should pass for officer's facilities, you know. And it sucked."

"You have one, too." Langenscheidt rested himself against the concrete wall and closed his eyes. "I... I think we need to hide. And find something to wear."

"Just let me enjoy a hot shower," Hogan muttered. He watched the thick, white suds sluice into the drain before eyeing the other man. "We need to get out of here. If this place is like that other underground base we bombed, there's going to be some kind of aircraft base. With all sorts of fancy airplanes that are just begging to be flown. My big regret in life is that I blew them all up before I got to fly them."

Langenscheidt nodded and slumped all over him. "Colonel Hogan?"

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid of heights," the corporal murmured... right before he passed out and slumped all over Hogan.


	2. Chapter 2

Corporal Karl Langenscheit had one hell of a headache and the general feeling that he had been dragged behind a motorcycle wrapped in barbed wire. His legs wobbled beneath him, colt like, and he had a hard time following the colonel off on his merry way. Which was fine. As a member of the Underground, Hogan probably had a better idea of the layout than he did. The only thing Langenscheidt wanted was a pair of pants. Maybe a blanket, too, if there was a wizard out there granting wishes. The colonel seemed quite at home in his skin and he didn't seem to mind the fact that Langenscheidt was draped over his side like a particularly heavy backpack.

All things considered, it could have been worse. Langenscheidt might have been a member of the paratroopers, but after a nasty battle - and being covered in the blood and viscera of a dead comrade - he had opted for a transfer to the least offensive post he could find and that happened to be Stalag 13. He did lost rank in the deal, as _Generaloberst_ Student had thought that he was a promising young officer and didn't want to lose him to guard duty, but there were only so many gore showers a man could take before he cracked up. Getting busted back down to corporal was much preferred to what he had been doing. Fewer men died here and when they did, there was less chance of getting hit by frozen blood and flesh on the way down.

The colonel grunted some and shifted Langenscheidt over to the side. "Okay, so this is your base. Any idea where we are and what we're doing down here?"

"I thought you knew, _Herr Oberst_ ," Langenscheidt coughed. He pulled off the other man, closing his blue eyes, and leaned back against the wall. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have very pretty eyes? Like coffee after you put cream in it."

"Yes, but they're usually trying to kill me." Hogan rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his black hair. "Did you hit your head or something?"

"Why? Are you confessing?" Langenscheidt paused as he tried to think about the layout of this base. "When I was with the _Fallschirmjäger_ , we had a mountainside base. I don't remember a lot of it, because I made a point to - "

"Wait. Run that word by me again? Fallschir-what?" The colonel looked like he was utterly confused.

" _Fallschirmjäger_." Langenscheidt rested his cheek against the cool concrete. "Paratroopers. What I did before I requested a transfer."

"You requested a transfer to Stalag 13," Hogan repeated. "Great. You're crazy. That's the last thing I need to deal with right now, because you're going to be something less than helpful."

Langenscheidt shook his head. "Not crazy. I just don't like to take a bath in frozen blood, that's all. It gets all in your rifle and locks the mechanism so when you try to fire it, it jams. Getting flakked isn't very fun, either. But as I was saying, I've been in a base like this one. I believe that there should be an elevator and if we can find it, we can find the personnel quarters and then the aircraft deck if this is indeed a _Luftwaffe_ base. Whatever it is, it's very secret and even when I was an _Oberleutnant_ , I never saw such a place."

Hogan pursed his lips and sighed. "Looks like it runs on a generator. I have no idea how long they kept us out, but it might have been anywhere for a few hours to a few months. I wish I knew how we got those tattoos, though. And why they're matching."

Langenscheidt had his suspicions, but he wasn't sure how he could translate them. There had always been whispers, even if the officers had tried to hush them up. Langenscheidt had heard of someone called the Red Skull and how that man was made to be some kind of super soldier. He had never seen that man, of course, because he had transferred out of the paratroopers and lost whatever clearance he had had. Langenscheidt had also heard of HYDRA - a sort of German attempt at taming nature to their whims. He had thought that it was foolish, of course, because there were some things that couldn't be changed. Still, though, he had to admit that something was up.

It was very easy to believe in rumors when one was standing, naked, beneath generator lights and looking into the eyes of an annoyed American colonel. Langenscheidt did trust Hogan, but not completely. The man had a ruthless streak a mile wide and he had proven that by disposing of several threats to his unit. Langenscheidt did admire the man, if only for his raw courage and ways of getting things done. Langenscheidt's skin crawled as he considered the whispers that he had heard and his old fears - that this HYDRA was going to kidnap the men he considered his friends - came back in full force. His long, slender fingers traced the tattoo on Hogan's back and he wondered just what it was doing there.

Hogan shook his head and jolted Langenscheidt out of his musings. "Okay. I'm going to assume that this elevator of yours is down at the end of this hall. Do you think you can walk now? I usually don't make myself a taxicab for injured krauts, but you have helped me out a few times and I thought that I would return the favor. But only a little, you understand."

Langenscheidt nodded. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, wincing as the cold concrete seemed to bite at the tender skin. The lights made his head hurt something awful. It reminded him of a hangover, though it had been a very long since he had drank that much. He trailed his hand against the smooth, cool concrete. The air was saturated with a chemical smell, like they were under a refinery of some sort, and Langensheidt tried to calm his racing heart. All he could do was pray to a god that had never answered that they wouldn't get bombed. He glanced up to the carved stone ceiling, trying to find the stress cracks and the leaks. If they did get bombed and this tunnel did collapse, he wanted to get his head bashed in instead of dying a slow death by thirst, infection, or hunger.

"You scared, Fritzie?" Hogan asked. Going by the pitch of his voice, he was trying to tease when he himself was scared. "You don't think this is gonna collapse, do you? Or is there a squad of stormtroopers up there looking to get my head on a stick?"

"I am scared," Langenscheidt softly admitted. "Scared of your bombers and what might happen if they strike this place."

Hogan fell silent as they reached the elevator shaft. Langenscheidt looked at him and picked the one he thought it was. The metal behemoth groaned around them as it started to drop down into the inky black depths. Langenscheidt hoped that it would come back up again and that the base would still be standing around them when they did get back. For once, Langenscheidt hoped that the American bombers wouldn't be quite so accurate.


	3. Chapter 3

Hogan was exhausted. His body ached like he had just gone through training again or that one time he had thought it was a good idea to wrestle a chimpanzee. On second thought, this was probably a slightly worse idea than that one. The elevator clearly hadn't been maintained in years - the thing reeked of dust, stale grease, and slammed into the walls at an alarming rate. The lights were on emergency mode and the orange glow cast a creepy pallor over the entire thing. Langenscheidt seemed like he was taking the thing pretty well. Then again, this was his base. If he had been a paratrooper - Hogan wasn't trying that mouthful of German - then he had probably been under more mountains than he cared to admit.

"Are you my prisoner or am I yours?" Hogan slowly asked. He edged away from the wounded man and ran his hands through his overlong hair. "I don't exactly trust you and the last thing I wanna do is walk into a machine gun nest."

Langenscheidt gave him a dirty look as he stopped the elevator. "Herr _Oberst_ , if I wanted you dead, you would be choking on your own blood right now. I am not a hapless fool and I know when to turn a blind eye to the things you do. The Party has its, ah, _reasons_ why they might not like me so much. But to answer your questions, we aren't each other's prisoners. We're comrades in arms, like you and Newkirk."

"Ah. I should have known." Hogan sighed and walked down the narrow, eerie little corridor. "I hate this place. This reminds me of a place I did some training in - the locals called it Redstone Arsenal. It was just as much a rabbit warren as this place and just as cheery." He made a face and sighed when Langenscheidt forced open the barracks door. "Huh. I never did think that there would actually be living quarters down here. I thought that it would be too dangerous - this is one of those places that's been getting bombed a lot."

Langenscheidt didn't say anything. What he did do, though, was jimmy open a lock on a trunk and dump a pile of dusty clothes on the floor. Hogan picked through it. As much as he didn't want to wear German uniforms - the fact that he could get shot for this didn't make it any better - he really didn't have much choice. Wearing German duds wasn't going to be the most offensive things he had done in this war. Besides, it had been a long time since he'd had fresh underwear. Things tended to get torn up when you ran an underground sabotage ring and regularly did things like kidnap generals and blow up bridges. Hogan got fresh clothing twice a year from the Red Cross. It wasn't nearly enough for what he did.

Hogan dressed in the uniform that fit him the best and laced up what was honestly the most uncomfortable pair of boots he had ever owned. He felt a little naked without his hat and bomber jacket, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Hogan squared his shoulders and ran his fingers over a complex design of colored lines etched into the wall. The Pentagon had had something like this in one of the bunkers. All Hogan needed to do now was crack the code and remember what color line he was following. He glanced back to Langenscheidt, noted that the man was indulging in some navel gazing, and went back to figuring out how to save the both of them.

"This was so much easier when I knew what I was looking at," Hogan muttered. "Why can't they have a legend by this stupid map?"

Langencheidt walked over and touched it. "When I was in a base like this, the red line led one to the hangar. I would assume that the design would be consistent with all the bases and it's only been a year since I last looked at one of these."

"I never thought that I would thank a kraut for saving my life, but thanks." Hogan shoved his hands onto the pockets and jerked them out again when he found a wad of half petrified chewed gum stuck to his fingers. "Gross! What kind of animal shoves his gum into his pockets? No wonder you guys are losing the war! All your technicians had their pockets glued shut!"

Langenscheidt rolled his eyes and started walking. Hogan followed him, noting with some unease about how unstable the walls and roof looked. Pools of black water lay on the floor and in some places, the natural springs had broken through and torn up the concrete floor. Thick cables - some red and others grey - snaked across the floor. None of them sparked, but Hogan wasn't stupid enough to step in them. They skirted a spot where the tunnel had collapsed. Trees grey atop the rubble and a slice of blue sky cut through the orange-grey malaise. Hogan frowned. That was odd. He would have expected the skies to be _alive_ with all sorts of bombers and fighters, not silent and pretty.

The pain in the back of his head came back. Hogan pressed his fingers into the sore spot and winced when they came back sticky with blood. If he was bleeding from a head wound... Hogan chased that thought from his head. The last thing he needed to do was torture himself with thoughts about that which he could not control. He wasn't going to bleed out or die from infection and if he did, well, that was another problem for another time. Hogan wondered if his head was hurting because he hadn't had his smokes in a long time. He didn't know if Langenscheidt smoked, but he did know the man enjoyed his wine. He had to be hurting right now, so it was nice to know someone else was in pain.

They stopped in front of a massive hangar. Hogan walked through it, tailing his hands over the bizarre looking aircraft that were stashed inside. Most of them were covered in a thick layer of dust. The rest of them looked so bizarre that Hogan had no idea what he was looking at. The best looking one looked like it was right out of a Buck Rogers radio play and the cockpit was well away from the fuselage. It was also perched precariously over one wing, but everything else in the bizarre little bird looked like it was in working order. Hogan scrambled up to the engine and took the cover off. The rubber bits looked like they were in decent shape and the fuel smelled like it was still good.

"Colonel Hogan!" Langenscheidt yelled. "This one looks like a rocket ship!"

Hogan turned his head. "I think I prefer the one that looks like it came from Buck Rogers, thank you. Now, why don't we see if we came find the collapsible door for this little fun house."

Hogan sighed softly. He had dreamed that he was going to get to fly again, but never thought it would be in one of Hitler's follies.


	4. Chapter 4

Hogan had never flown anything with an off-center, split cockpit. He got what they were trying to go far - if the pilots weren't near the fuselage and the main body of the plane, they were less likely to get barbecued if the thing got shot up. It was also supposed to be good for reconnaissance patrols and things like that. However, they also handled like a three legged pig. This thing also had the freshest smelling gas. As much as Hogan hated it, that was the one they were going to be flying. He kicked the control panel by what looked a like a shuttered window and grinned when it started wheezing and flickered on. Langenscheidt pushed him out of the way. His fingers flew over the board and, slowly, the rusted and corroded shutters started to force themselves open.

Hogan grabbed two pairs of headphones and what looked like moth eaten bomber's jackets. It was going to get cold up there and the last thing he needed was to fall unconscious from it. After a quick appointment with the hangar wall - there weren't always piss tubes with smaller craft and Hogan wasn't risking his manly bits with this bird - he was shoving the wheezing, clattering bird towards an overgrown, potholed runway. The sun burned his eyes, making him squint. Hogan tried to ignore it, as he had long since traded his aviator's for a bowl of soup. In hindsight, that might not have been his best idea ever. It would join a long line of bad ideas that had gotten Hogan where he was.

Langenscheidt looked at the bird. "Are you sure that you trust this time?"

"I thought you jumped out of airplanes," Hogan replied. He helped the man with the earpiece and the microphone. "So. This goes against your throat so I can hear you over the radio. Please try not to shout - these things are quite sensitive and I like my ears the way they are, thank you."

Langenscheidt sighed as he climbed in the co-pilot's seat. "To answer your question, I jumped out of nice, stable bombers and we were released under favorable conditions. This thing sounds like a death trap and I think our silk might be fouled. I have no idea if the fuel is any good or why some idiot left a perfectly serviceable bird under a mountain. So, no, I don't trust this bird and I hardly trust you."

"That's fair." Hogan grunted as he closed the cockpit. He cleared his throat. "Mic work?"

"Loud and clear." Langenscheidt's voice was tinny and crackled, but Hogan could hear him. "This thing feels weird. I have no idea how you put up with it."

"Easy. I got paid and all the pretty girls wanted to go with me," Hogan replied. He touched the control panel and sighed when it lit up the way it was supposed to. "Some of the pretty boys, too, but I wanted to keep my wits about me and not get chemically snipped. It's easier to pretend that I like what everyone else likes and play the lover-boy airman bit. I even have the motorcycle."

The bird groaned as Hogan started to ease her down the runway. She was a little of-balance with how the cockpit was situated, but counterweights on her other side kept her reasonably steady. Hogan gunned her, avoiding the bigger potholes, and pulled her nose up. She groaned and smoked like a chimney, but she flew and flew _fast_. Hogan heard the leather creak behind him. He ignored it, instead keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who might try to smoke them. He flipped to what he thought was the emergency channel. If any Allies were in the area, he wanted them to not kill him. Hogan frowned when he noticed how clear the skies were.

Hogan passed a map and a compass back to Langenscheidt. "Take us to England, please. There should be a pencil if you need to do any math."

The bird hummed around him like a well oiled machine. Her engine pressure was good, she had plenty of fuel, and she wasn't even complaining about how fast Hogan was pushing her. She might have been a smoker, but they couldn't always be perfect. For the first time in a long time, Hogan allowed himself a smile. Then he checked the rear view mirrors and cursed when six long, flat, thin craft came flying up behind him. They seemed to close the gap in seconds and Hogan got the creeping feeling that he was right in their cross hairs. He really didn't want to get in a fight. This bird looked like she was unarmed and she wasn't even that fast, compared to those things.

Hogan wondered just how long he'd been out. He had heard of jets, of course, but he hadn't ever thought that they would be miniaturized and fly rings around him. One of the pilots flipped upside down, touching their bubbles. Hogan flipped him the bird without even thinking about it and banked to the left. The idiot followed him, still upside down. He rolled over quickly and gestured to his radio before flashing numbers above his head. Hogan rolled his eyes. He had seen what looked like a bastardized Air Corps logo on the tails of these weird craft, but the krauts had been known to steal logos before. Still, though, he opened the radio to their chosen frequency and winced when the thing started to spark.

"Not now, baby," he whispered. "You gotta get us to England, please? You're a good girl, I know you can do this!"

"You'd have a lot better chance of getting to England if you weren't flying an antique!" the other pilot snapped. "Now who are you and why are you in restricted air space?! I have orders to shoot you out of the sky, but I'd rather not if you're just some civilian out for a jaunt in their grandpappy's jalopy."

Lagensheidt kicked Hogan. "I think you should tell him, Herr _Oberst_."

Hogan sighed. "Alright. I think you're on my side, so I'd really appreciate it if you pointed those popguns _away_ from me. I'm Colonel Robert Hogan, United States Air Corps. I was working with England, undercover work in Germany. A sabotage guy - I specialize in blowing up bridges, munition factories, and getting rid of annoying krauts. And I don't mean getting them drunk. I mean _getting rid of_ getting rid of."

Behind him, Langenscheidt winced.

"Uhh, I think you're drunk and you need to get out of the air before you kill yourself and a village," the other pilot replied. "Because that is the stupidest story I have ever heard and I've heard some whoppers."

"Then show me something that isn't a kraut base and I'll show you!" Hogan snarled. "I have no idea how long I've been out, I don't know what in Sam Hill is going on, and I have no idea where in this bloody, convoluted war I am! Now either you give me some straight answers, _private_ , or I'm gonna see just how fast this bird can go! You get that?!"

"I think you're like five wars behind," the other pilot said. "It's not 1943, dude. It's 2014. You seriously need help."

Hogan almost pulled the nose down. "Take me to a base and fill me in. Now. Because I have no idea what's going on."

The pilot and his friends took off. Hogan struggled to follow them, but gave up after his little bird couldn't keep up. He patted her instrument panel. It wasn't her fault - if that pilot was right, Hogan was a relic and so was she. It was probably a miracle that they even got in the air. Hogan found the base easy enough and dropped the landing gear. The bird landed smoothly enough and Hogan scrambled out. He reached for a pistol that wasn't there. He tensed up as American military police, heavily armed, surrounded him. Langenscheidt held up his hands as he scrambled out and almost fell flat on his face.

"Don't shoot!" Langenscheidt pulled out a soiled white handkerchief and started waving it around. "I surrender! I surrender!"

For the first time, Hogan heard how thick Langenscheidt's accent was. He slowly held up his own hands. They were, to put it in crass terms, thoroughly screwed.


	5. Chapter 5

Commander Brock Rumlow had seen some weird shit in his time. Working with SHIELDRA was a surefire way to not only see the world, but to see some truly mind bending things that were best left to the nightmares of sick children and the nasty folks that worked for the interrogation sector. What had happened with Germany - the weird looking bird that just showed up in the middle of the day and the two idiots that climbed out of it - was pretty much the highlight of his week. Brock thought it would be an open and shut case. Show up, terrify the morons with threats of eternal legal damnation, collect a nice check, and then go kick Barton's ass in the gym.

It should have been that easy, but it so rarely was.

Brock had seen all the TV shows as a kid. After Captain America, Colonel Hogan had been one of his heroes. The guy had fought for America in his own demented little way and got rewarded from it. Brock had stolen the books from the local library and stayed up late to watch the old reruns. His parents hadn't been too bothered that he liked the TV - it was just a babysitter that they didn't have to pay for - but his father had ragged him for looking up to a murdering fool who allowed himself to get captured and another guy who killed himself rather than finish a fight. Brock had never thought that he would get to see one of his two heroes in the flesh. The young part of him was ecstatic, but the rest of him was expecting the worse.

Colonel Hogan - if that was _really_ who he was - wasn't as impressive in the flesh. He was thin like he'd been missing a lot of good meals lately and his black hair was overlong and untidy. He wore an ill-fitting, ancient German uniform that looked like it was stitched out of canvas instead of cotton, and he was barefoot. A pair of brand new boots were kicked over beside him and the socks were stained with blood. There was a man with him, but he was nothing impressive. A bit better fed, maybe, and he carried himself in a way that screamed military. That one had plain brown hair and eagle sharp blue eyes that belied the innocent and somewhat dopey look that he was trying to craft.

Brock stuck out his hand. "Commander Brock Rumlow. I was sent over from SHIELD to see if you really are who you say you are. If you happen to be the real Colonel Hogan, I'll take you back to the States and get the paperwork started."

It was going to be a hell of a stack of paperwork, but Brock could always shove that off on Rollins or Thompson.

Hogan skewered him with a sharp, dark eyed gaze. "What about my buddy here? He helped get me out of that hole and I'm not leaving him here."

"We'll find something," Brock replied. He circled the two men and noted how Hogan held himself like a coiled tiger. "Look. Relax. No one's gonna jump out of the ceiling and try to cut your head off. I don't know if these guys have told you, but the war's been over for over sixty years now. You're not going to get hurt or killed or even thrown in the brig. Oh, and we'll even try to do something for your German friend. Might be a little bit harder, though, because we have no record of a Karl Langenscheidt."

Langenscheidt looked up. "That's because the record's hall was struck by one of your bombers the last time you struck Berlin."

"Yeah, cry me a fucking river," Brock drawled. He stepped over and grabbed the man's collar. "Lemme get one thing clear to you, sweetheart, we don't take so well to your kind anymore. If you go popping off at the mouth, they just might beat the hell out of you and I'd join them. You little - "

The next thing Brock knew, he was on the ground, his arm throbbed like someone had fractured it, and Langenscheidt was standing over him. Half of Brock wished he could clap the man on the back and invite him to join HYDRA. The rest of him wanted to punch that smug piece of shit in the face for what he did. Hogan was looking at his nails and the other guards had grabbed their pistols. Langenscheidt crouched over him again and long, slender fingers gripped Brock's collar. His eyes were as cold as the Russian ice and he carried himself like a highly trained soldier. Brock winced. He'd never tangled with a young SS man before. He liked to think that he could, but maybe he couldn't.

Brock grunted and pushed the younger man away. "You SS or something? Because I never saw that coming."

"If I wanted to, I would have broken your arm," Langenscheidt softly said. "I'm not SS and you will not compare me to those animals, do you _understand_ me? You don't have to be a murdering animal to know how to fight." He glanced back to Hogan. "Herr _Oberst_ , I don't know if we should go with this man. He reminds me far too much of Major Hochstetter for me to really be comfortable with him. At the very least, he doesn't trust us and he seems to think that he can mistreat me as he sees fit. I don't believe that we should waste our time with this man and the last thing I want to do is meet the firing squad. After all we've been through, it would be a damn shame to meet the firing squad."

Brock rolled his eyes. "No firing squad. We're just taking the both of you home."

Hogan raised his hand. "Langenscheidt, let him take us home. If he's too much of a little shit, we'll take him out and I'll take the plane to wherever we want. I've heard that Bora Bora is nice this time of year."

Brock just grabbed for the stack of paperwork. This was going to be a long flight. He was pretty sure that there was a lesson about never meeting your heroes in here or something like that. Still, though, there seemed something charming about the man. Even though he was tired and thin, Hogan still carried something about him that made Brock want to trust him. He tried to chase those feelings away. Hogan clearly didn't trust him - he seemed to trust Langenscheidt more - and Brock wasn't going to press things unless he had too. Brock tried not to break the pin as he worked through the paperwork. They would test Hogan's DNA in New York. Langenscheidt didn't count.

Unless... Brock glanced towards the young German man. Langenscheidt should be an easy recruit to HYDRA. The seed was already planted. All Brock had to do was water it.


	6. Chapter 6

At least the food was better than the slop they served at Stalag 13. Langenscheidt had given up his access to the officer's mess once he had resigned his commission in the paratroopers and the enlisted men's mess had been a badly run disaster. _Vizefeldwebel_ Meyer had suggested that the best tasting parts of the potato soup were the insects that often fell in the broth. Langenscheidt had joked that the cooks added said insects as a way to skimp on the bacon even more. He knew that the prisoners had worse food - a watery soup made of boiled cabbage, the off bits of pork, boiled wheat, and whatever salt the men could come up with. It tasted horrible and smelled worse. Their bread was exceptionally poor, even the white bread that Klink purchased.

That was why Hogan crouched over his bowl of rich, tomato soup and glared daggers at anyone who dared get within a ten foot radius. There was a bowl of salad beside him, along with as many rolls as the man could carry. Langenscheidt didn't bother to tell him off. He had enjoyed picking his dinner out of a buffet, too. The last time he had been to a _hofbrau_ was about a year before the war. That one had been very poor and the food more grease and flower than meat and vegetables. This food was better. It tasted quite good and Langenscheidt enjoyed the crunch of the vegetables and the way he could sink his teeth into the meat. Maybe there was something to be said for this 21st century - the food was far better than the one he had left, for one.

 _Kommandant_ Rumlow cleared his throat. "Tell your buddy that no one's gonna take his food."

" _Tell that jerk to let me eat in peace_ ," Hogan grumbled. He grabbed one of the rolls and stuffed it in his face. "My compliments to the chef, by the way. Best meal I've had since I wound up in Stalag 13."

" _I speak German, you know_ ," Rumlow replied. He shook his head and reached for the salt. "Like I said, I know you've been hungry. I've read your file. It's quite extensive and made for good reading. That's how we know that you're you - the blood, hair, and skin samples they took back in the day were well preserved enough that we could test your cheek swab against it. Rapid DNA testing. It's one of the wonders from the 21st century."

"I understood exactly none of that," Hogan replied. "What's DNA and what the hell are you doing with my skin and hair?"

Langenscheidt rolled his eyes. The last time he had been assigned to guard a laboratory, he had been treated to a two hour lecture by the lead scientist. Among other things, he had talked about something called DNA and how it was like fingerprints - everyone had their own set and it could be used to identify who a man was. There had been talk of creating a national registry of sorts, but Langescheidt didn't know what came of the project. He did know that the man had taken a swab from his mouth, along with snippets of hair and a vial of blood. There was a good chance that those records still existed. Langenscheidt wanted to find those records if he could and check those out against the newer American records.

Langenscheidt paused and put down his forkful of noodle. "I didn't know that the Americans were engaged in genetic research. I was always under the impression that it was a little beneath your dignity."

 _That_ gave Rumlow a double take. Hogan grinned a little bit and stuffed the other roll down his gullet. The man had to be hungry, so Langenscheidt didn't fault him for the way he was eating. He did, however, not want to hear about it when Hogan complained of a soured stomach. Langenscheidt was much more careful with his food and ate enough to take the edge off. It was all much too sweet for him, like someone had dumped fifty pounds of sugar in the batch. It made Langenscheidt's teeth hurt, so he carefully ate what he didn't think would make him sick. Hogan, on the other hand, was enjoying whatever he could stuff into his mouth. There was going to be trouble later on, but right now, the man was going to enjoy his meal.

"You were engaged in...?" Rumlow trailed off. He shook his head. "But of course you were! You were first in space - no wonder you were already studying DNA and all the applications that it might have. We never did find the notes, though."

"That's because he burned down a number of facilities," Langenscheidt replied. He smiled wryly. "I would like to join you in your search, by the way. Samples were taken from me when I was still with the paratroopers." He stood up and gathered up his tray, carefully ignoring the way the others glared at him. "I would love to find the results from those tests and compare notes. I'm sure that yours are going to be much the same, seeing as how you are using a slightly modified version of Doctor Schuster's equipment, though I'm sure that you have made some improvements."

Hogan reached for the salad. "I was doing my job, you too. It was all in the line of duty. I would like to see that file, by the way."

"I'll see if you have the clearance," Rumlow replied. "You do have a nice pile of back pay, by the way. And Corporal, I've talked with your government. You are qualified for back benefits and pay. I'm not sure on the conversions, but neither of you are going to be poor and starving on the streets."

"How do we access this pay?" Langenscheidt asked. "It's going to be worthless if it's just sitting in some bank vault getting dusty."

"I'll get you a debit card," Rumlow sighed. "And cell phones."

"What?" Hogan asked. "Come again? What's this "debit card"? And why would I need a cell phone - I'm not going to jail, am I?"

Rumlow sighed and rolled his eyes. "Corporal, did they have cellular technology when you left?"

Langenscheidt smiled into his tea. "No, I'm afraid you're quite on your own, _Kommandant_. I'm not sure what a cellular device - whatever that might be - looks like or what it might do. I've never heard of this debit card either. I do know what a charge card is, though that's more of a little book where you buy things on credit. That was replaced by the ration book soon enough and no one bothered to carry paper money once counterfeiters started having a field day. That is, counterfeiters not employed by Berlin. Does any of that answer your question, Herr _Kommandant_?"

"Nope." Rumlow sighed and rubbed his face. "None of that answers my question. I'll have one of the agents explain it all to you."

Langenscheidt didn't doubt it. He hoped he was going to get one of those fancy cell phones and maybe a card that accessed that pile of money he supposedly had. Langenscheidt hated to admit it, but he was going to believe he was wealthy when someone showed it to him. He had grown up poor, much like Hogan had, and he was used to going hungry. Langenscheidt pushed the half empty bowl away from him. He was still hungry, yes, but he wasn't going to make himself sick. Hogan, on the other hand, was rubbing at his belly and groaning.

Langenscheidt stood up and offered Hogan his hand. "Excuse us, Herr _Kommandant_ , but I need to care for my _Oberst_. I think he overindulged and it's going to bite him."


	7. Chapter 7

Hogan didn't say much as he limped back to their assigned room. Maybe eating all that food so soon after Stalag 13 hadn't been the best idea that he had ever had. It tasted good, though, and it had been so long since he had sunk his teeth into something recognizably _American_. He didn't mean to knock on LeBeau's cooking, because that was the best he had ever tasted, but it was nice to be able to get a bowl of tomato soup, decent rolls, and French fries. Maybe that was why he had over indulged. It had been so long and he had been homesick. Now he was a man out of time and there was no real way for him to go back to the world he knew short of some miraculous time machine.

Hogan snorted. Not even _Buck Rogers_ had a time machine. There was no reason to think why these people would have one if Buck Rogers didn't.

Langenscheidt swiped one of the (plastic? Was that what they called celluloid these days?) cards over the magnetic lock. It flashed green and the door rolled back into the wall. Hogan was too sick and tired to even be impressed. The room they had been given was a small one and there were two twin beds pressed against the wall. For a second, Hogan wondered if this was some kind of test. Was it legal for two men to be together in 2014? Hogan didn't know where to ask about those laws. He didn't even want to think of the awful word they called it and what it might mean to his career if he was found out. Sure, he enjoyed women, too, but he had always been curious about what it would be like to hold a man.

Would it be different? The same? If he tried it, would these soldiers be able to tell and have him hauled before a jury? There might be a court martial and if he was dishonorably discharged, he might lose all of the money they owed him. Hogan had heard of a benefits program being phased in shortly before he... well, whatever the krauts had done to make him sleep happened. Was he eligible for that? Would that even stay if someone thought he might not be the smiling, newspaper hero they thought he was? Hogan had hated playing the act they forced upon him, but he had too. He was a downed pilot in Germany and the high command could always drop him like a hot potato if he acted up too much.

He sat down on the little bed and tried not to panic too much. What did these people want him to do? Jump up and whistle Dixie? He could always do that once his meal settled in his belly, but only if they asked. He worried at the back of his head some, fingers probing the slight patch of raised tissue. He kicked himself for not snooping through the medical records. There had to be some in that base! The krauts _never_ did anything without filing it in triplicate and that base hadn't been disturbed until Langenscheidt woke him up. Maybe Hogan would ask that Commander Rumlow character to go look. He had an idea of where the base was - he knew about low long he had flown that bird for and, since it had been in a straight line, it would be just a little math to put Rumlow in the general area.

Langenscheidt came back with a box. "I found this in the closet. Remember when you said we would finish that puzzle?"

"That wasn't a puzzle and you know it," Hogan growled. "Don't play cute with me."

"Here." Langenscheidt dumped it out on the bed. "I know it's not a secret map that someone butchered with a pair of scissors, but it will have to do."

Hogan smiled softly and spread out the pieces. It had been a very long time since he had worked a puzzle - the last one had been back before he was drafted with his five year old niece - but it felt nice to do it again. The box showed a very wide array of colorful "classic cars" all in a junk pile. Hogan traced the picture with trembling fingers. He remembered when many of these cars had been new and several of the ones now apparently considered classics hadn't even been released when he crashed landed into Germany. This world was vast and a little frightening. It was filled with all sorts of technology that he had never even seen before or even tried to imagine.

Langenscheidt reached over and squeezed Hogan's hand. "Colonel... are you alright?"

"No." Hogan looked away and tried to gather his thoughts. "No, I'm not. Everything has changed and I don't even know how I got here. Everything I knew - or thought I knew - is gone and replaced by something that glows, makes weird sounds, or does both. I don't like it. It scares me and I just want things to be _normal_ again."

"I'm sorry," Langenscheidt whispered. He leaned over and his lips just barely brushed across Hogan's. "When we were in Paris, there was nothing more I wanted to do than kiss you right on that balcony. You seemed so lonely, so distant, and I just..." He closed his eyes and cupped Hogan's cheek. "I wanted to make you feel better."

Hogan covered Langenscheidt's rough hand with his. "Yeah," he managed. "I think I would have liked that."

Langenscheidt brushed some of the pieces aside and pulled Hogan into his arms. They just lay there for the longest time, tucked together and holding each other like they were drowning and the other was a lifeline. Langenscheidt smelled like strong, sweet soap and his overlong brown hair brushed against Hogan's face. He looked so young, so heartrendingly young. Hogan wondered what was wrong with him if he desired a man that might be a decade his junior. He didn't try to push things, just held the younger man and tried to ignore his hammering heart. He didn't know what he would do if they were caught. How could he explain away the way they were touching each other without implicating the both of them?

Langenscheidt kissed him again, longer this time. Still just as gentle, waiting for Hogan to decide how to respond. He hadn't ever done something like this - before, it had been demanding, born from another person wanting his body and from him wanting to release frustration and anxiety. This was different. This was gentle, soft even though Langenscheidt hadn't shaved for a little bit. It wasn't demanding at all. Hogan pulled back after a minute and curled up in Langenscheidt's arms. Sure, the man was supposedly the enemy, for he was a decent man and Hogan knew him. He felt safe for the first time since he had landed in this crazy time. Sure, there was a chance he was crazy, but at least he was with the devil he knew.


	8. Chapter 8

Brock paced through the hallway and debated what he was going to do. He needed to get a good baseline on Colonel Hogan's physical fitness and now was as good a time as ever. Besides, he had gone into that freezer at something fairly below the baseline. If Brock had to guess, the Colonel was a smoker - probably a heavy one going by the stains on his fingers - and he had just had his first good meal in a long time. That was going to impact his performance by a lot. The corporal looked like he was in better shape, but he had a bad limp and also probably smoked. All of that was going to impact his performance in the gym and not for the better, even though he was good enough to knock Brock on his can.

He finally made up his mind and knocked on the door. He could hear someone talking behind the door and, though it was unlocked, Brock gave those two their privacy. There was no telling what they were doing. Brock knew what it was like when a man had just gotten out of duty - a man had needs and sometimes you just needed a good fuck. Brock didn't want to walk in on two guys having sex - it had happened enough to him that he knew how annoying it was - so he knocked again and allowed the men about ten minutes to get their clothes on before he touched the sensor and slid the door open. Brock pushed into the room and glanced around.

"You two have fun?" Brock brightly asked. "And, speaking of, let me get you the SHIELD guide to safe sex. A lot has changed in the ninety years since you've been asleep and one of those is our attitude towards sex. We don't care what you do to who - well, most of us don't - just as long as you aren't related and everyone involved is a consenting adult. If you want to get crazy with it, the internet and _50 Shades_ really aren't your friend."

"We were just working a puzzle," Hogan slowly said. "I'm not sure what you're talking about and I'm not sure I want too."

Brock decided to let it slide. He was pretty sure those two were fucking and he had no idea how they would even _get_ a puzzle. He just shook his head and tried to get over the fact that he was starting to like a clearly involved man. It was just his luck. If someone wasn't trying to get in his pants because they liked the way he looked, they didn't care because they already had a boyfriend, a girlfriend, or some other kind of partner. It was honestly very annoying. Brock had thought that Captain Truth, Justice, and the American Way would have thought of him like a person, but he just wanted his Bucky and didn't care about anything beyond a quick fuck and an even quicker eviction.

It served Brock right for believing in love. There would be no place for any foolish puppy love in HYDRA's perfect world, so Brock just needed to get used too it.

"I was told to take you to the gym," Brock replied. "We want to test your physical health."

"Now?!" Langenscheidt yelped. "Why, that's madness! We're not ready for such a thing! We would need a month to prepare at least! And the Colonel hasn't had near the amount of nourishment that he would need for such a test!"

"I'm not worried about you," Brock sighed. He rubbed his face and glanced towards the annoyed Colonel. "Look, I know he's sick, but we have to get some kind of baseline for his performance. The fact that he smokes is gonna get him worse than the fact he's a little underweight. No offense, Colonel Hogan, but you're gonna have a rough time. You can thank the US Army."

"I've been thanking them for years," Hogan growled. "For all the years I spent marooned in that hellhole of a camp and for what they allowed to happen to me now. I think I'm gonna be fine."

Brock rolled his eyes. He just let the two of them get their shoes on and straighten their clothes before getting down to the gym. Yeah, they were fucking. They might not have wanted to admit it and Brock didn't blame them, but they were fucking. They touched too much to not be. Brock never saw two men who _weren't_ fucking touch that much, nor did they just lie on a bed and work a motherfucking _puzzle_ together. Kids worked puzzles and little old ladies in the nursing home who had nothing better left to do. Two men - _soldiers_ no less - didn't sit there and play games like they were children. Brock was pretty sure of that, just like he was pretty sure that Captain America was a real pain in the ass.

He just smiled, though, and turned them over to the sergeant at arms. Hogan balked, like he didn't want to wear all the wires, but Langenscheidt touched him and apparently that made everything alright. Brock just rolled his eyes. Hogan stripped down to his skivvies - a pair of plain, white boxers - and Brock was pretty surprised to see that Hogan had a winged Mjolnir on his right shoulder blade with a 504th under it. So, it appeared that America's first lover boy news hero was a bit of a wild child. That had never appeared on any of the medical reports and Brock wondered why. It was quite a nice tattoo and Brock wanted to kiss it and lick it and show Hogan that he was just as good a lover as any stuffy kraut.

Hogan moved like a tiger. For the first few minutes, he took the treadmill like a champ and looked like he was having a great time. Brock watched him and felt more than a little jealous. So, Hogan was thinner than he needed to be, but he moved like a tiger and Brock loved watching him. Then he started to falter and stumble. Brock wanted to jump up and help him, but he had to stay back. Langenscheidt paced like he was about to lose his shit and Brock didn't blame him. The colonel wasn't in that great health to begin with. This wasn't going to go well.

Langenscheidt walked over to the doctor and grabbed his neck. "The Colonel is done, Herr _doktor_. Now turn your machine off or I'll do it for you."

"What - !"

Langenscheidt decked the stammering man and pulled the plug straight out of the wall. "Colonel. I'm not going to let - "

Hogan looked at Langenscheidt like he was a wild man before falling to his knees and screaming like there was a host of demons after him.


	9. Chapter 9

Langenscheidt stared at the prone Colonel in horror. For once in his life, he had no idea what to do. Someone had to do something - the commander looked like he was in a good frame of mind to make a snap decision - but that someone didn't need to be Langenscheidt. None of his training had prepared him for what to do if his commanding officer fainted. Certainly, Klink had done similar things, but never when he was under pressure. No, Klink usually chose to have his fainting spells after the crisis was averted. This was something new and, going by the way Commander Rumlow was acting, not good. Langenscheidt tried to force himself to react. He knelt beside his colonel and touched Hogan's face.

"Do you have a medical bay?" Langenscheidt softly asked. He pulled the Colonel into his arms. "It's not like him to just collapse like that!"

Rumlow looked a little conflicted, but soon he nodded. "Yeah, but we're going to have to hike. I wanna keep him out of the general population for awhile because we don't know if he's carrying something like malaria. I'll wanna do that with you, too. No offense, corporal, but neither of you have been cleared by medical and not everyone in SHIELD has had all their shots."

"Shots?" Langenscheidt asked. He settled the unconscious colonel into a fireman's carry and hurried after him. "I... I don't know what you mean."

"Vaccinations," Rumlow explained. "It's what we give people to make sure that they don't spread things like polio or tuberculosis. Since we don't have any records for you and his are incomplete, we're going to need to give you a few rounds of everything. You'll feel like shit, but you won't be able to get it or spread it."

Langenscheidt nodded like he understood. The future was a very strange place, but it would be nice to not be scared of tuberculosis. He wondered if there was a vaccination for cholera, too. That had ripped through his little hamlet when he was a child and killed over half the population. Not even his own family had been spared - the Langenburg Graveyard was filled with graves from 1928 and one of them was for a "Baby Langenscheidt". His little sister had only lived for a few weeks before she was killed. Langenscheidt supposed that was why his parents never named their children before they reached nearly two years of age. If these people had a way to prevent that kind of disease, he was quite willing to embrace it.

Rumlow took him into a small lift and keyed a code into a lock. Langenscheidt watched it and tried to memorize the numbers. It was very different from the keypads they had used in Germany, but the idea was still the same and he could use it if need be. The lift was very small inside and quite clean. The walls glistened with a clean chrome color and Langenscheidt could see his tired, lean reflection. The floor was carpeted with a dense black material. It looked like it would be nice to sleep on if he had too. Langenscheidt smiled to himself. He wasn't getting soft, not at all. He was as loyal as a dog, sharp as a sword, and as tough as old boot leather, just the way a man was supposed to be.

Langenscheidt did think it was a little odd that the lift was going down instead of up, but he was very tired and it was hard to keep his eyes open. His arms seemed to be moving of their own accord, but he was too tired to really be upset. His body probably knew what it was supposed to be doing far better than he did. Colonel Hogan was still unconscious. His head lolled to one side and he stared unblinkingly at the polished steel wall. A little bit of Langenscheidt was alarmed, but the rest of him was simply too tired to really care that much. It was so much easier to listen to that quiet voice and follow Rumlow out of the lift and into a narrow, dark corridor.

They were underground, Langenscheidt thought. The walls were streaked with condensation and the floors covered in chipped asbestos tile. Piles of dust lay on the chipped and broken floor near the stained walls. The hallway was lit with broken emergency lighting and the tattered wire cages cast a series of sharp shadows all over the floor. A few other rooms branched off the hallway and recent boot steps had disturbed the dust, but otherwise, they looked like they were as undisturbed as the day they had been made. If Langenscheidt didn't feel like he was made of lead, he knew that he would be terrified right now, but he was just so tired and all he wanted to do was obey.

He lay a sleeping Colonel Hogan into something that looked like a bed and stood at attention. Rumlow and a careworn looking blonde were talking, but he ignored it and watched the Colonel. It felt like he was fighting through treacle to touch the Colonel's face, but Langenscheidt did it. The man felt so warm, so alive, that it almost broke whatever spell Langenscheidt was under. He felt a spear of panic stab his heart, but it was gone as quickly as it started and he just stood there. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was sink into the beckoning nothingness. It would be so easy, too. All he had to do was shut off his mind and follow his commanding officer like he had been told.

A good soldier followed the rules. Langenscheidt wanted to be a good soldier. He wanted to win the war and live out his days in a quiet little farm out in the country, so far away from the chaos and the fighting and the paratroopers. A place he could be at peace. A place filled with golden sunlight and warm, gentle days. It looked so pretty in his eyes. He was there, holding Hogan as they watched the sun rise under a patchwork blanket. It was like he could feel the softness under his fingers and inhale Hogan's unique, sweet scent. It was like he could have everything he ever wanted, if only he obeyed and was a good soldier. Langenscheidt felt himself smile. He could be a good soldier, he was sure of it.

The blonde man touched his face. "I thought the Germans only made the one."

"So did I," Commander Rumlow replied. "We found a microchip in Colonel Hogan, though. It's German alright. The other one doesn't have that kind of addition, but I don't think he's going to give us any trouble at all. After all, it looks like they've both been programmed just like the Winter Soldier."


End file.
